


The Actor - Origin

by Xanthias_Reavik



Series: Origins and Summaries [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, WKM - Fandom, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Adultery, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthias_Reavik/pseuds/Xanthias_Reavik
Summary: The origin of my HC version of Actor!Mark.
Series: Origins and Summaries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690681
Kudos: 5





	The Actor - Origin

**Part 1 - The Actor  
**

* * *

Mark sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling as he felt the consuming weight of sorrow around his shoulders. …Things had been rough, lately. Celine had been spending less and less time speaking with him, and he could feel all the old insecurities rising up in his chest, suffocating him from the inside. …Acting meant spending long, exhausting days shooting from dawn to dusk. …what if she was no longer satisfied with him? …what if she regretted their marriage, what if her feelings had faded? What if… she intended to leave him?

He felt his heart lurch within him, his throat constricting. …Things would be so much easier if he just gave up. If he just… gave in, to the darkness. …no one cared about him. No one cared about Mark, the person. They only cared about his characters, their fake stories, their outfits. His audience loved a good mask. …but they only cared about Mark when he had something to say, some soap box to stand on with which they agreed so they could spread it across social media like wildfire for their moment to say “ha, see? This famous guy agrees with me, I’m right.”  
No. …Mark knew the **truth.** He was nothing to these people but a marionette dancing on a stage. He had given everything to them – years and years of his life, his emotional capacity, everything – his sanity. …now here he was, shooting self-insert videos so desperate, lonely creatures could pretend to date him and fetishize him further into the masks he wore. He took a long breath, the rage cold within him, the depression seizing into his very lungs as he moved to the dresser and pulled his pistol out of it. Unloaded, but a pleasant weight to have in his hands as he ran his fingers over it.   
It was nice to have something that made him feel in **control** of his life again, something that reminded him that **he was the one behind the trigger.** It was comforting to think he wasn’t just a slave to the audience, to the director… to fate. He stood with a sigh, placing the gun in the pocket of his robe. …the red robe Celine had gifted them for an anniversary. Mark hated the thing, but he wore it all the same – he didn’t want her to feel unappreciated, especially with how much of his time was taken up by work.   
He found himself walking through the halls of his estate, **a specter** in the maze of a home built upon the foundation of a career he wished he could leave. If only he could. If only depression hadn’t seized his motivation from him, stolen it away and trapped him here in this place, unable to make himself find a new job, a new skill, a second chance… a second wind. It didn’t matter. He had to support Celine and the kids, so he worked. **He said nothing** of how it was gutting his mind to go back to work every day, spat on and yelled at when he spoke incorrectly, enduring abuse /willingly/ in order to survive. **He said nothing** of how it was jarring to realize that victims of the same abuse could receive help if they weren’t doing it for /money/ and /survival/ with the label “work” attached to it. **Nothing was Mark’s,** not really. The house was for Celine and the kids. The decor, nothing but gifts and jokes from happier times - things not meant for him anymore. This robe he wore dragged him into the chains of Celine’s expectations of her husband. …god forbid he ever cry out for help, god forbid he ever appear weak to her.  
He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard the familiar sound of a creaking bed from another room. Something in him… twisted, at the sound. William. …William was bedding her again, no doubt. He wasn’t surprised that she’d been lying when Celine said she’d ended the affair. Why was Mark even trying to be strong for her anymore? The weight of the gun in his robe pocket knocked against his leg as he moved, and he fell still, remembering. …he could have **control.** …he could end it all.

* * *

**Part 2 - The Entity**

* * *

Why was he awake? …why was he /still/ //here//? Mark had tried everything. He’d ingested poison. He’d tried to hang himself. He had tied himself to a weight and thrown himself into the pool out back. He had furiously stabbed at himself, 37 fucking times, and he had still woken up again. In his frustration, he had beaten himself severely against the wall, against furniture, he had punched his own body – he had done /everything/ to end his own life. …why was he still //here//?  
A mocking laughter sounded in his head. It was back. It was back to taunt him, to torment him, to bring forth nightmares behind his eyelids and show him every one of his fears, every bad memory, everything all over again. The darkness in his mind wouldn’t let up.  
“Please… no more…” his voice came out a desperate sob, his shoulders wracking as he began to tremble, **traumatized,** terrified.  
“Oh, Mark… Do you want me to stop? … I will stop. Just /let/ me //in//.”  
“You’re already in me… you and your blackness. I won’t – I won’t do it – I won’t…”  
“…Tut tut, Mark. I will only continue to torture you. You will let me in. …and when you do, we’ll take vengeance against Celine and William together, won’t we. …we’ll make /everyone/ pay for hurting you, Mark, and you will finally be the one in /control/.”  
“…but… the others won’t understand.”  
“Your wife has let you suffer all alone, untreated, Mark. …She left you to die. Your depression is obvious in everything from your drinking to your distance and your apathy. She caught glimpse of your humanity, Mark, and decided William was stronger. Better.”  
“…but…”  
“Come now, Mark. …do I really need to show you how she fell in love with him to begin with /again/? Do I really need to torture you to burn the understanding of her into your eyelids?”  
“…no. …no, I… you’re right.”  
“Good. We’re getting somewhere, Mark. …now, call your friends together for a bash. We’ll explain everything to them… and we’ll oust Celine and William for what they are.”  
“That’s all?”  
**“That’s all. I promise.”**

* * *

**Part 3 - Fused**

* * *

“DEAD!! They’re all DEAD!!” Mark’s agonized cry was met with mocking laughter.  
“Yes, Mark. They have paid for their sins against you. …and now you, the undying Actor, are free to play your role. You are in **control,** just as I promised.”  
“Don’t fucking lie to me. YOU are the one running this – ” He fell silent, choking as the invisible darkness swelled in his very throat, cutting his voice off.  
“Oh, no no, Mark. **WE are doing this. TOGETHER.** …now put on your costume. We have explanations to give, timelines to alter – we have an audience to trick. …and when we’re done, we have a heist to plan.”


End file.
